Conversations in the dark
by hpkiwi
Summary: It's the night after the trio arrive at Shell Cottage, and both Ron and Hermione are unable to sleep. Resulting moments of levity ensue, as well as some fundamental truths being laid bare. Rated T for one use of moderate language and themes of torture. Contains a reference to the plot of HP and the Cursed Child.


**Hi all,**

 **It's been an eternity since I published something on here, and this one was on the backburner for an extended period. It seems I finally succumbed to the fanfiction cliche of doing a Shell Cottage story on a certain combustible couple. Eagle-eyed readers will spot a reference to Cursed Child, so be warned. That, and a reference to a certain famous Muggle making a lot of headlines. (Please don't be offended!) Enjoy.**

Ron Weasley was having a restless night.

And it wasn't because of something stupid like spider nightmares either. If any day had represented Ron's final separation from boyhood, today had been that day.

Yes, he had fresh sheets, clean clothes, and whatever scrumptious something that Fleur could cook all available to him, luxuries that had been denied to him ever since he heard the Deluminator calling him back. (Or was it subconsciously Hermione? He'd never figured out exactly how Dumbledore had designed the tricky contraption, but that was something to puzzle about when- no, _if_ they all got through this.)

However, the news from Harry that Voldemort had acquired the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's grave disturbed him greatly. It seemed that whatever hope remained for the Trio in destroying more Horcruxes relied on a raid into perhaps the most secure place in all of Britain, and that was still on ice and entirely reliant on the co-operation of an obstinate goblin. Their injuries from their latest misfortune were still fresh, especially one person's, who, Ron had personally confirmed, was sleeping readily courtesy of Fleur's care.

The events of the past twenty-four hours were still fresh in his mind. Too fresh, he thought as he looked out at the freshly-dug grave, the words Harry had chosen clearly viable in the full moon. Yet another life snuffed out in such an unnecessary manner. If only Harry had kept his mouth…

It only took him a split-second to shut down that poisonous thought. That sadistic _bitch_ was responsible and she alone, for Dobby's demise, not to mention torturing Hermione to the verge of death. Sheer, raw pain was all he could feel down in that cellar, any resistance being smashed further and further into oblivion with every scream. Not to mention the sight of that madwoman's blade pressed against her throat, one tiny gesture away from silencing her permanently. He had failed, yet again, to keep her safe. The screams were once again ringing in his ears as he rushed over to the sink and regurgitated his latest hot chocolate, shaking uncontrollably.

A slight creaking of a door on the upper landing made Ron freeze. Wiping his mouth, he gingerly poured himself a glass of water and began rinsing his mouth out. His still-pale face broke into a shaky smile as he saw who it was. Hermione, looking half-way healthy for the first time since Malfoy Manor and with one of Fleur's borrowed dressing gowns wrapped around her all-too thin frame. He hurried towards the foyer, anxious to assess her condition

"Hey, how are you feeling?" he whispered.

"Been better," Hermione admitted, gingerly descending the stairs one step at a time. "But been far, far worse," she added, returning the smile. "You, on the other hand, look like something Crookshanks dragged in."

 _Damn_ , Ron thought, as he took another swill of water. "How's Crookshanks anyway?" he asked, trying to sound casual while attempting to expunge the memories of the Malfoy cellar from his mind.

"Fine, to my knowledge," Hermione replied, accepting Ron's hastily offered second glass of water, and gingerly sipping it while looking wistfully out the window. "He'll be enjoying suburban life, what with all the things to chase. Including…." Her lips twitched.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"If you bring up those bloody Australian spiders again, I'll…"

"Do what exactly?" Hermione replied, raising one eyebrow at him. She gave a wry chuckle as Ron's face heated up. Good thing that his face was currently in shadow, he thought.

"Actually, he won't," she continued. "Crookshanks appears to intuitively know what's poisonous; he's incredibly smart as we all know. I managed to get him onto the same plane as Mum and Dad, even made sure the airline accepted pets."

"Like pet, like owner," Ron grinned. "To be honest, I'm not sure which one of you is more brilliant, whether it be that little pest's deductive abilities, or your ability to make most of Ravenclaw look like Crabbe or Goyle." Inside his head, a most unpleasant image bubbled to the fore. Peter Pettigrew's purple-oxygen deprived face swam in front of his field of vision for a second, but he brushed the image away.

"You said that like that's a good thing," she replied. "Since when did _you_ become so fond of my cat? Was it after I saw him asleep on your lap that October evening in Sixth Year?" Ron blanched. He had no idea that he'd been spotted, least of all by Hermione.

"No matter, I won't tell Harry," she finished, brushing her hand airily and gingerly approaching the kitchen bench to lean on it beside Ron. "The point is….I can't bring myself to sleep. Too much on in my head. I'm sure that comes as a surprise to you." Ron's heart somersaulted at the sight of the pseudo-grin on her face, partially visible in the gloom. For too long, he'd feared that even though she'd survived, her personality might have changed irrevocably in the wake of all those curses.

To put it briefly, she was still Hermione, with her specific-to-Ron brand of humour intact. It was an epiphany of relief of sorts. Unbidden, his vision began to blur, as he turned away from her. She could so easily have ended up like Neville's parents….

"Ron," came her voice from a long distance away. "Are you all right?" She tentatively brushed his arm.

Somehow, that did it for him. "No, I'm not bloody all right," he snapped, his voice barely more than a whisper. He turned to face Hermione, who looked a little shocked at his sudden exclamation. "Dobby's dead, You-Know-Who now possesses the most powerful wand around, we've got a Horcrux that's hidden in _her_ vault which we have no means currently to get rid of, and you…you…" His words failed him as he began to shake uncontrollably. She nodded in understanding and moved closer, opening her arms as he reflexively did the same. In an instant, his face was pressed into her shoulder as she soothingly stroked his back.

"You know what I think?" she responded, as tears silently dripped off the end of Ron's nose onto her dressing gown. "You're angry because you, for some _abominably foolish_ reason, think it was your fault….what she did to me."

Ron reflexively squeezed her harder at that point, rather harder than he was intending. "Sorry," he muttered, taking a deep, soothing breath. "Hope that didn't hurt you too much." He could almost feel her smile into his side.

"Most of the pain's gone, thanks to your amazing sister-in-law," she responded. "Still the occasional muscle-spasm, but Fleur says that with a double-daily dosage for another week, it should go away."

"You're amazing," Ron muttered, finally extracting himself from the clumsy embrace and blowing his nose.

"Always the tone of surprise," she responded, in an almost playful fashion. They stared at each other, then succumbed to peals of laughter. While Bill and Fleur's wedding seemed like a century ago, the memory was still as warm as ever in Ron's mind. Within two seconds, Ron drew out his wand and managed to choke out ' _Muffliato'_ , lest the noise woke any one of Shell Cottage's many occupants.

His laughter gradually faded away as he turned to once again look out of the kitchen window to the freshly-dug grave, clearly visible in the moonlight. For not the first time that day, feelings of responsibility and hopelessness collided in a way that made Ron feel simultaneously like a small child and an adult many decades older. Following Ron's eyes, the sight sobered up Hermione as well. For a long period, both stood in silence, staring out at the gravestone. Ron was almost certain that Hermione, like himself, was thinking of all the moments of levity the elf had brought into their lives, including the time Dobby had collected all of Hermione's scarves. Finally he broke the silence.

"If they don't include him on the Ministry's Memorial Wall after this is over, I'll kill them."

"Not sure if I agree with the violence," she replied, "but I agree with the sentiments. It would be so great to finish what Dobby, in his own little way, started. I don't just mean elves either," she added. "I mean werewolves, centaurs, goblins, merpeople, and all manner of intelligent beings…."

As she continued speaking aloud her desires to improve the Ministry's laws on magical creatures' welfare, Ron couldn't help but be transfixed by her enthusiasm. He'd probably have to change his mind about killing the idiots at the Ministry if Hermione was to become, say, the Minister of Magic. And he couldn't help but ponder what role _he_ would play in her life if that were the case. So many opportunities ahead for them both, and yet, so unreachable….

"Ron?" he heard her say sharply. He shook his head, clearing it of those thoughts. Seeing her staring back at him quizzically, he dimly realized she'd stopped talking fifteen seconds earlier, and was waiting for him to say something.

All the while he'd been blankly staring at her.

"Sorry, got carried away thinking…." He managed to blurt out. In the faint moonlit glow, he could have sworn that her cheeks began to darken just as his ears began to warm up. She continued staring at him, briefly peering to look down at her interlocked hands.

"About…what?" she began tenderly.

"About you. Me. Us." He waved a hand. "The future….all of that. How it's all dependent on that little prat Griphook agreeing to get us into Gringotts, which can't possibly work." He turned his head again to stare out at Dobby's grave. He heard a sudden intake of breath from Hermione. Over almost seven years, he'd come to associate that sound with her brilliant brain coming to a game-changing realization.

"You know…" she whispered. "It's one of the things that's been keeping me awake all night in that room, and I'll have to check with Fleur tomorrow morning as to whether she has the bag."

"Bag? Ron replied, nonplussed. "Your beaded bag? We lost everything in that tent when the Snatchers came."

"Incorrect, Ron," she responded with a hint of pride. "Just before I got grabbed, I stuffed it down one of my socks, and it stayed there all the way through to when Fleur pulled them off to apply Essence of Dittany."

Ron's mouth fell open. Not only had Hermione managed to fabricate a cover-story while under the most excruciating torture possible, but this example of quick-thinking too?

"But… would it still…does it have…."

"The Polyjuice potion," they both finished in unison, eyes shining with exhilaration.

"You are _bloody_ brilliant, Hermione," Ron responded, taking her hand impulsively and squeezing it. (He noticed that this was becoming something of a habit.)

"But that's only half of it…" smiled Hermione, squeezing his hand back. "I don't want to disturb Luna right now, but there's a whole pile of my clothing in her room that hasn't yet been washed, and who knows, there must surely be a hair of hers on my sweater."

" _Hers_?" It was if an icicle had pierced Ron. Much of the warm feeling of euphoria, exhilaration, and yes, there was no point denying anymore- _love_ , was replaced with a chill as he remembered those minutes that were now surely his worst ever memory.

"You shouldn't do that Hermione, using her wand, turning into her…if it's just going to disturb you."

"What choice do I have?" Hermione sighed in resignation, squeezing his hand once again. "The only way we- I mean, all of us, have a future is if we destroy these Horcruxes. It's the only way we can stop more dying for us, or dying because of who they are…."

Was it possible for Ron to love her for her courage and loyalty, any more than he did already? It seemed that he could. This girl- no, woman- had grown from the pesky little nerd whose buttons he always knew how to press and vice-versa, into someone who barely flinched at the mention of her torturer's name.

He realized that both were standing here in this kitchen staring at each other, alone, holding hands, and neither of them had spoken for what seemed like an eternity.

Hermione let out a muffled exclamation all of a sudden, and he ever-so reluctantly let go of her hand. There was no point pursuing anything further, he told himself. _All you'll do is hurt her again, sooner rather than later. She's alive. That, and stopping You-Know-Who, are all that matters now._

He had to tell a joke- anything- just to be rid of the tension that had filled the room. It seemed that not even one of them nearly dying, even now, could brush away the wrackspurts that seemed to follow him and Hermione everywhere, he thought wryly, thinking of Luna.

"The point is this Ron," Hermione said, drawing herself up to her full height and trying to sound businesslike, although patches in her cheeks still seemed unnaturally dark. "If disguising myself as her is what it takes to find one more piece of his soul, then I will do it. Neither you nor Harry can stop me, unless you can think of some better plan."

"Fine," Ron muttered. "But I'd rather not be walking into Gringotts right beside her. Not my choice of a Diagon Alley date." Hermione frowned at him.

"If that's meant to be funny…."

"I swear, the only thing that's more disgusting than my, er, um, best friend turning into Bellatrix would be her and noseless getting down on it."

Hermione's mock-frosty expression evaporated in an instant, giving way to a series of giggles. That sound, the sound he thought he'd never hear again….

"Ronald Weasley," she wheezed, clutching her ribs and grimacing. "Did I mention before that you were a _complete arse_?"

Ron chuckled back, recognizing it as another subtle reminder from Hermione that she'd well and truly forgiven him for the events involving the locket.

"Yes I believe I did," he replied, "and I have to thank Harry for saving my bacon, too. But I have to be honest, that scenario I just described, I can't get it out of my head now," he finished, comically gagging. Slowly regaining her composure, Hermione wiped her eyes. "I don't think I want to think about it frankly," she replied evenly, scrunching up her nose in distaste. "Just be thankful you don't have to disguise yourself as say….Donald Trump."

"Who the bloody…"

"He's a Muggle businessman," she replied. "My parents couldn't stand the likes of him. Let's just say he's sort of a mixture of McLaggen and Lucius Malfoy."

Maybe Muggle business culture wasn't so great after all, Ron mused. What with them both still euphoric from the realization that the Polyjuice potion had survived, and the demons seemingly banished from him, maybe it was finally time for bed. He yawned and turned to put his glass in the sink, quickly vanishing the vomit from earlier. Somehow, conversations with Hermione, however petty and trivial, seemed to be the best antidote to his ills.

"Ron?" he heard Hermione tentatively whisper from behind him. Whipping around, he turned to face her. He noticed all the traces of laughter had gone from her face, and she was apprehensively biting her lip. She was now bathed in moonlight, and he in a beat realized how pale and unsteady she still was on her feet, despite all the affectionate ribbing and joking.

"Yes?" he whispered back, even quieter than he'd intended. He had a suspicion that the front she'd been putting on in front of him, Fleur, Harry and the others had been a ruse, and now, she was dropping her guard, in front of the only person she could trust in this context.

She stared briefly at her hands, swallowed, and then looked him directly in the eye.

"I don't know how to put this Ron. I, I never thanked you for what you did back then. Back in Malfoy Manor." Ron's heartbeat came to a screeching halt.

"What was I going to do?" he responded, deepening the eye contact. "If it meant keeping you safe, I would do _anything_ to ensure it."

"I always suspected that," Hermione answered, taking a step towards Ron. "Always. And now I know. Whatever concerns you might have had about yourself, your bravery, you blaming yourself for what happened to me in there….whatever, just know that I need you. And so does Harry."

"What do you mean by that?" Ron breathed, his heart beginning to race. There was a psychological wall coming up, he knew, and he was going to crash right into it. Or did it even exist anymore? He had no idea.

"You should have realized by now," she beamed back. "Even for someone with the emotional range of a dessert spoon."

"What..."

"Yes, you've been upgraded," she chuckled, although Ron noted her eyes appeared to be rather damp all of a sudden. "I mean….you're….you're my best friend. I'm not thanking you for what you did, getting me out of there, overpowering Pettigrew, dueling her and the Malfoys… all of it. I'm thanking you for saving me in another way."

Ron was terrified of what he was about to hear, but he nodded. He tried not to notice that both of them were now almost toe-to-toe and both minutely studying the other's facial expressions.

"Well, when she hit me with the first few curses," she sniffed. "I was able to remember who I was, where I was, and I could resist her questioning for so, so long, while drip-feeding her that story. Because I knew that the moment she finished with me, you'd be next. Your yells simply reinforced that."

Ron's eyes began to water too, again. Hermione was now shuddering harder than ever before, as she drew in a deep breath and continued.

"Then, I think she left me alone because she wanted Griphook. I….I tried to get up, to stop her, I don't know, was hit again and I…was gone. I Knew I was finished, everything had gone grey and I forgot where I was." Her voice dropped to below a whisper, tears now starting to trickle down her cheeks. In that moment, Ron realized she bore less resemblance to the stoic Hermione he'd seen a few minutes beforehand and all day, and more resembled a most vulnerable small child. In an instant, his arms were wrapped around her trembling form.

"Then I….called out for my Mum. And Dad." She sniffed again. "They would stop the pain."

Ron had no idea she'd done that. It must surely have been muted by the sounds of what was happening down in the basement. He closed his eyes and inhaled, just to get a scent of her shampoo. A reminder that she was, after all, alive, even as her screams played again in his head.

"That was when you called out, louder than ever, and I knew….I knew I could hold on just a little longer….anything to stop you from suffering the same fate as me. You saved my sanity, Ron."

There was nothing Ron could say to that. Nothing needed to be said by either of them. Gradually the sobs faded away, to be replaced by sniffles, steadying breaths, and finally, a yawn from both of them, as Ron pulled away.

"Blimey," he yawned again, staring at his watch. "It's really late. Got any idea as to when we can pull Harry aside?"

"As soon as we can," she sighed. "It's hard to get him alone right now, so first chance we get tomorrow, we tell him our game plan."

"Sounds good, boss," Ron answered, offering his hand. Hermione took a step forwards, stumbled a little, then slightly sheepishly took his proffered hand.

"Careful with the stairs," he whispered, shifting his hand to her back as Hermione wobbled violently on the first stair. "What do you think happened to the folks back at Malfoy Manor?" He allowed a trace of concern to infiltrate his voice.

"Nothing good, knowing You-Know-Who," she whispered back as they continued to make their slow ascent.

"I know that. I was just reflecting on the fact that for the first time forever, I'm a little concerned about that little ferret's well-being, and the well-being of the Malfoys. How in the name of Merlin's garters did that come about?"

"Times change, I guess."

"Yeah."

As quietly as he could, Ron eased the bedroom door open, and Hermione turned to face him.

"Goodnight Ron. Thanks for everything," she whispered, planting a kiss on his right cheek. But Ron shook his head.

"I'm not going anywhere until I've established that you're soundly asleep," he replied fervently. "I'll just sit down here." He gestured to a patch of carpet beside the left-hand side of her bed.

"Okay, but don't wake Luna. Sweet dreams Ron."

"You too," he breathed, as Hermione pulled back the covers and with a satisfied sigh, lowered herself into bed.

As the minutes wore by, and as the snores of Luna continued with no second set joining them, Ron eased himself down to a more comfortable position on the floor. To hell with extra sleep, he thought. He decided to once more nervously extend his hand, to have it rest on the edge of her bed just in case.

It came as no surprise to him when a few minutes later, a smaller, cold hand slipped into his outstretched palm. He locked his fingers around hers and was positively certain he heard a soft, breathy exhalation as she moved herself into a more comfortable sleeping position. It seemed that it had done the trick when slowly but surely, her snores began to fill the room as well.

He was so engrossed by the sight of her, alive, sleeping and at peace with the world, he failed to notice another slight creak as a hand pushed the door behind him ajar. Its owner poked her head around the gap and, upon seeing Ron crouching attentively beside the bed, the most naked expression on his face, she was simply content to drink in the scene.

"Tu est un homme bon, Ronald," whispered his sister-in-law, her Veela features radiating delight as Ron's eyelids finally gave up their battle some minutes later and his head softly settled back onto the corner of Hermione's headboard. "I always knew."


End file.
